


Angels do not need sleep

by Inovium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I’m sorry, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-18 08:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inovium/pseuds/Inovium
Summary: Angels do not need sleep.This isn’t to say some can’t enjoy it, but they don’t need it.That’s not really why Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, though. See, he only ever seems to have nightmares when he lets himself lose to unconsciousness. It was something to do about always keeping himself on guard and gated, and when will the dam break except when he has no way to protect himself? Regardless of the mechanics, he doesn’t sleep a lot. Actually, he could count how many times he’d gone to sleep with two hands.Tonight was one of the nights he went to sleep.—————I’m not a good judge but some parts may count as graphic. Heavily implying some really bad stuff, so please be safe and careful in reading this.





	1. In which Hurt is served

**Author's Note:**

> Just a kind of last warning that this gets pretty gruesome. A lot of blood, angst, and hurt with no comfort. It’s not really a set ending, though, so you can imagine all the comfort and fluff your heart desires. Also, not only am I not a good writer, but also I wrote this at 12 am. Sorry about... all this.
> 
> Edit: A not originally intended chapter two for comfort is up! Sorry for the long wait!

Angels do not need sleep.

This isn’t to say some can’t enjoy it, but they don’t need it.

That’s not really why Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, though. See, he only ever seems to have nightmares when he lets himself lose to unconsciousness. It had something to do about always keeping himself on guard and gated, and when will the dam break except when he has no way to protect himself? Regardless of the mechanics, he doesn’t sleep a lot. Actually, he could count how many times he’d gone to sleep with two hands. 

Tonight was one of the nights he went to sleep. 

You can’t blame him. The weight of the last week, saving the world, and then his demon’s behind can mentally drain even a celestial being. He was bound to pass out. 

Needless to say, adding a layer of exhaustion to the whole nightmare business seemed to make things worse.

He’d been reading a book lost to mankind’s history, stubbornly ignoring the weight of fatigue in his mind, and didn’t notice when he’d lost the battle.

In the realm of dreams, he watched everything around him getting destroyed. The skies turned dark with ash. Not a patch of green was to be seen on the ground, where all life on it’s surface had burned. No humans were left, except as bodies, if you could call the charred, disfigured stumps as such, to say nothing of animal remains. Around him, in less battered appearances, were demons and angels alike, some screaming or groaning, and some just quietly shivering as they bled, or burned, or melted away, all so slowly, and all so overcome with agony that it drenched the air around them, like a dripping wet towel draped over his nose. Even though the world around him burned, he felt so frightfully cold, down to his very bones. He’d raised his hands to his arms, to try and rub some warmth into them, and that’s when he noticed.

He was covered in blood. Elbows deep in the dark liquid, mostly dried and coagulated. If his digestive system were functioning at the time, he would have keeled over and wretched right where he stood. Oh, God! A sword lay on the ground near him. Was it his? Had he done this? How many of them were taken by his hand? How many looked into his unfeeling eyes, knowing it would be the last thing they saw? He was going to be sick, stomach or not, and his eyes roved all around him wildly, when he saw-

No, no, no, no no no. He couldn’t- There was no way- 

A mess of red hair, so often well kept and styled, matted with blood and dirt. 

His skin, black and blue with bruises, deep gashes just centimeters shy of hitting somewhere important. Marred with fighting, with war.

Yellow, slitted eyes flicked all around, not having noticed him yet. The one thing that stays the same, the only pillar left standing, one small unchanged thing to keep him grounded. One constant, that can, will, and has kept him grounded not less than six thousand years.

Aziraphale watched, unmoving, until those yellow eyes settled on him. It contorted into expressions he couldn’t read, until it stayed still long enough for him to see it, that though every other part of him didn’t display it, his eyes clearly showed his pain.

His fear. 

They’d started gravitating to one another, approaching each other in the nearly barren playing field, all that was left of what was once earth.

The sound of beating wings suddenly made themselves welcome in his ears. Dread filled him, and shook him down to his very core. Crowley looked at him with concern, and it took him a second to realise he was physically trembling.

Crowley didn’t hear the beating wings. He wouldn’t see them coming. He couldn’t-

“Crowley-“

He was cut off by the sudden appearance of angels, no less than six, surrounding him. Surrounding Crowley.

All of a sudden, he couldn’t breath. He couldn’t hear, or speak, or do anything, except shake where he stood.

“A demon. One of the last few,” an angel stepped forward, eyeing Crowley with disgust, and ignoring Aziraphale altogether. He was still unable to move.

And suddenly Aziraphale saw it. One of them was hiding a sword. It glowed even in the darkness of the world. A holy weapon. He could see it clearly in his mind, piercing through the demon, leaving him in anguish for moments before releasing him. Destroying him completely.

But why was Crowley looking at him like that? No, not just at him, but also behind him. Eyes flitting back and forth, he was panicked, and tears pricked at his eyes as he started walking, in a daze, toward Aziraphale.

Something wasn’t clicking in Aziraphale’s mind. Like his brain was being blocked out or overwhelmed with clouds, or fog.

The angels around him quickly subdued Crowley, holding him back by his shoulders and arms, forcing him to kneel.

And there it was again. The holy weapon, this time in an angel’s hands.

His heart was alive once more, and it beat so fast, so strong, that it would kill any human.  
Crowley was shouting now, more aware of everything. He was struggling against the holds, screaming at him.

“Aziraphale! Behind you!”

He didn’t understand what Crowley said. It wouldn’t sink in. Why wouldn’t it sink in? Something was in his mind, like cotton balls or static, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t really comprehend the words.

Why weren’t any of the other angels looking at him?

Suddenly, he was burning. It seemed a jar of hellfire had been positioned behind him, at him, and opened right when Crowley was there, unable to do anything but watch.

Aziraphale screamed, engulfed by a pain unequaled by any he had felt in all his years of existence. He fell to his knees, still unable to stop shouting, even as the flame scorched his throat, into his mouth, and even in all the pain it brought him he screamed. Crowley was positively livid, the four angels holding him could barely keep him from diving into the fire to save the angel.

“Azira-“ The shriek was cut off by the sickening sound of a sword meeting something akin to flesh. The fear consumed Aziraphale mind and body, and in spite of himself, he looked up, at Crowley.

The howl that left him should have been impossible. It was inhumane, at best.

The sword had gone straight down towards his- clean through the neck- 

And his head-

Aziraphale wished the fire would engulf him faster, just end it all, end this pain. 

And he woke up. 

Coming back to the land of the living was a quiet affair. He nearly threw himself out of his chair, gasping in lungfuls of suddenly fresh and sweet air around him. A look at the time told him it was three in the morning, not five hours since he last remembered checking his clock. His throat felt absolutely wrecked from what may have been his dream screaming turning into real screaming, though it was nothing short of a miracle that none of his neighbours seemed to hear.

The aftermath of the nightmare didn’t really hit him for awhile. He had enough time to get himself a cup of tea, sit down on his chair, and take a few absent minded sips, before the shock dissipated, and it all came crashing down. And within minutes he’d dropped his cup of unfinished tea in lieu of curling in on himself and sobbing in a way only these nightmares could bring. It was definitely up there among his most terrible, but not the worst, he must admit. Perhaps there was something not okay with the idea the internal hell he went through was not yet his lowest, and yet it was the truth. It simply was not the worst.

It still took him hours to calm down, to uncurl from his foetal position, and stop the tears completely. 

It wasn’t his first time, dealing with these nightmares. Every time it happened, he simply hoped Crowley stayed away long enough for his throat to recover, and the life in his eyes and being to come back. He need time to build up the dam once more, ignore everything behind it almost overflowing when he throws more weight into it. He needs some time to hide the emotions away, and he’s usually been fortunate in Crowley not visiting him in those times.

Nine times, now. He’ll be fine, he just needs to stay hidden.


	2. In which comfort is served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then he heard a soft sound, as of one tapping gently at his bookshop door.
> 
> Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It’s 4am and this is not really checked for mistakes. I appreciate criticism (please don’t be rude) and writers blocks is all the time so sorry this took so long. There will also be a reference to a fan song, which I will link at the end notes, enjoy!

And then he heard a soft sound, as of one tapping gently at his bookshop door.

_Shit._

_ ‘Why now? Of all times, why must he visit now?’ _ Aziraphale wondered to himself. Despite all hope of Crowley getting the picture (he never did, or perhaps he knew something was wrong in those moments?), another set of knocks soon came, followed by Crowley’s voice piercing through the silent night’s air.__

_ __ _

__

“Aziraphale? I know you’re in here. Mind opening the door?” Aziraphale heard the door handle twisting around, lock seeming to be gone, as though it knew the angel had no intentions of getting to it any time soon. He sat unmoving in his chair, as he waited for the demon to arrive.

“Angel,” The familiar, playful drawl made itself comfortable in his ears, “So sorry to drop by this early, but I figured, well, you don’t sleep much. Couldn’t hurt anyone, really.” His voice proved rather soothing to Aziraphale’s soul. The light steps of Crowley’s feet felt like a fire, drawing closer, and growing warmer. The world looked brighter, clearer, but Aziraphale could not for the life of him clear himself of the sickening quiet in himself. The painful feeling of death in his sleep seeped into the real world, leaving him tired, cold, and, God help him, lifelessly sad. 

The creak of his backroom door (that really shouldn’t be creaking at all, but he couldn’t seem to miracle it away. He wouldn’t admit he enjoyed having it.) bounced off the walls of the old shop, and there by his doorway stood none other than Anthony J Crowley.

His mind, though quick to notice and observe, was sluggish to respond. A quick nod in the demon’s direction was all the angel seemed to be able to do before his wits caught up with himself.

“Oh, yes, right. Crowley, good to see you.” What was he supposed to do now? In his regular, spritely days, he’d know if now was a good time to bring out some of his good wines, or to put on some music on the old gramophone. Perhaps this time he’d simply sit and let crowley speak. Clearly not the reaction the dear boy expected, but they’d have to make do with it.

The tension surrounding Aziraphale was so tightly wound Crowley worried about bringing up the unusual behaviour.

As the demon made himself comfortable in a seat across Aziraphale, he wondered about what may have been going on in the mind of the angel. Was it the shock settling in? Surely not. Earlier in the day he’d been bright as the sun, just peachy. Tip top, even. What could have happened in the hours preceding their day at the park?

Was it the bastard bureaucracy Above? 

His knuckles squeezed so tightly on his arm rest, he’d noticed they’d gone white.

That was also when he noticed that fifteen minutes had passed, and not a single word had left the angel’s lips other than the tense greeting.

Aziraphale looked down on his lap, a grim expression set on his features. His fingers curled into his palms, so hard Crowley was afraid he’d draw blood, and his mind was clearly a thousand miles away from the sitting room.

Something was definitely amiss.

“Hey, Aziraphale? Are you feeling alright? Not being so... chatty and all.” Crowley nearly immediately regretted his words as he watched Aziraphale flinch slightly, and quietly mumbled, “No worries, dear. I’m alright.”

Crowley was definitely worried now. He had no idea what could have happened in the hours after he saw Aziraphale home, but how could he help him out if he didn’t know why Aziraphale was suddenly... like this? In all their years of existence, he had never seen him in this state. Granted, they hadn't met as often as they did now, back when horses were still the preferred mode of transport, or when the World Wars were still occurring.

Was he like this when things like wars or plagues happened? It would make sense, the exact opposite of good, couldn’t bode well for an angel. 

But no, that didn’t make sense. They’d just saved the world! The world they both so loved and enjoyed! It wouldn’t make sense at all for him to look so... dejected. Even the air around him seemed so stoic and lifeless.

Crowley was startled out of his thinking by a gentle hand on his arm, and Aziraphale’s face looking back at him, some concern etched into his features. 

“Crowley, you’ve been staring at me like I’m a thousand piece puzzle. A penny for your thoughts?” Aziraphale had retreated back to his chair, looking at Crowley with an expression he couldn’t really identify. Crowley figured that now was about as good as any other time to bring up his concern.

“Yeah, well- Just-“ He swallowed some of his nervousness, and crossed his fingers. “I noticed you’re not really... you’re not really as, well, happy and life-y as usual. I know- I know that bad days are okay, alright, I get that. But went from a hundred to zero in an evening, and I’m a little, well, a lot worried. Is anything wrong, angel?” If Crowley were to be honest, the look of hollowness lined with sorrow in Aziraphale was terrifying to see. Oh, he loves spooks, scares, and halloween and all that, but that look was one kind of chilling horror he hoped he would never see again.

A small smile had solidified on Aziraphale’s face, one of the fake ones he used around the lot above, and, Lord Almighty, Crowley absolutely hated that look on him.  
“Everything’s normal, my dear, this is just... nothing.”

“Angel, please.” Aziraphale couldn’t look Crowley in the eyes. He didn’t want to open his mouth, afraid that the telltale sounds of held back tears would escape his throat. But he knew Crowley wanted to hear it, because he cared.

A care that could end them both, that could wind up as a blade down one’s neck and burning into nothing for the other.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really! Just, just... nightmares. That’s all.” Aziraphale mumbled as he reached out for a glass of wine, only mildly displeased to find nothing within his reach. He would have made one appear, but Crowley took his hand and shook his head slightly, with... puppy dog eyes. How was he making puppy dog eyes? Oh, it sucked to be on the receiving end of those. He couldn’t resist that, could he?

“Will you tell me about them?” The usual coat of mischief and trickery was gone from Crowley’s voice, and left only a soft and gentle care, opening the door to Aziraphale, but not pushing him in. He would let him tell the contents of his nightmares in his own time.

Well, now is better than later, since, to him, later always turned to never.

“It’s... this particular one-“ a pair of yellow eyes flashed open, in shock at his words. Crowley never got to know about the nightmares. “It was one where we didn’t- we didn’t stop armageddon from happening.” No, stop. He needed to breathe first. He needed to calm himself, just a bit of a break, he thought. He looked down at his shoes, worn with use and love, and focused on it as if not doing so would discorporate him.

The silence stretched out for fifteen minutes, in which time nothing at all moved in the bookshop. The dust lay still in the air, and the morning’s rays of sunlight didn’t move an inch.

“The earth was a battlefield. There was no greenery left at all, nothing mortal left alive. The humans-“ He choked up slightly, but continued quickly after. “The humans were all dead. Stumps, no limbs on them, burned like they had been spinning on a spit. Nothing to say about whatever animals were left.”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, who looked steps away from getting up and walking to him. More precisely, he looked like a glass bottle tapped not very lightly with a hammer. Not exactly shattered and broken into innumerable pieces, but a little more would truly do the trick.

“It didn’t take me particularly long to see my arms covered in blood, and not much longer to see angels and demons all wasting away around me, if not dead,” his voice was cracking, and his brows were furrowing. What was he doing, he couldn’t get emotional, that always lead to him not stopping for hours and made him want to sleep for weeks afterward, no matter how emotionally taxing.

“And you were there. You’re always there. I thought you’d left for the stars, and I was scared, completely out of it. Up There was winning, and they’d surely end you.” A shaky hand had brought itself up to his eyes, where tears had already pooled. He leaned into the cool touch of a hand on his shoulder, and took comfort in the whiff of leather and... an inexplainable scent that just brought him comfort, quickly collecting in front of him.

“They found us, of course. No surprises there. But they had some idea of sorts, probably knew me to be a traitor, so they thought to end us both, make us completely and utterly miserable in our last moments.” The hand tightened around his shoulder, and was joined by a hand on his knee, rubbing circles around the bone. 

“They started burning me alive, Crowley. Hellfire, eating at me as I seared slowly from skin to bones. It couldn’t compare, though. Nothing could compare to watching you get your head lopped off with a sword!” He’d stuttered on words multiple times, and broken into full on sobs as he leaned down into Crowley, who was more than ready to catch him. He felt arms wrap around him, and a voice whispering softly but incoherently in his ear. 

“I can’t lose you, Crowley! You’re everything I have, have ever had! You’re- you’re my entire world. Oh, drat it, it sounds so foolish and silly, but I mean it! I couldn’t take it if you left me! Not you, Crowley! Anything else, just not you!” He’d been sobbing like a child into Crowley’s neck, shaking with the strength of his wails. He hadn’t noticed that his own arms had wrapped around Crowley so tightly he shouldn’t have been able to breathe. Luckily, his demon didn’t need to.

“You’re not losing me, Aziraphale. Never in a million, billion years. I can promise you that.” Crowley said as he ran a hand through his angel’s hair, shushing into his ears very quietly. When had his glasses disappeared? Oh, to hell with it. 

He didn’t realise he’d also started crying until he saw the drops of tears fall on Aziraphale’s skin.

“I don’t think I could take it, to keep on living without you. It’d be worse than death.” Crowley’s breath hitched. The idea that he meant so much, despite the guilty fluttering of his heart, it was a painful thing to imagine. He knew that staying on earth without Aziraphale would be damn near intolerable, but he’d still finds strings to grasp on to. He’d stay on the world they both loved over their original domains. Maybe avenging his angel’s deaths, or at the very least, making sure that it doesn’t all go to shit, and keeping him alive in everything he loved so damned much. Even just watching and waiting for the world to end, he'd find something to stay for.

Aziraphale was ready to dive down the deep end of a theoretical pool of hellfire if he disappeared from the face of this universe.

His entire body shook with the slow rising dread and terror pooling in him. “No, no, Aziraphale, no. Don’t say that. You can’t do that, Angel. Promise me if anything happens, you won’t do that.” Aziraphale looked up at him from where his face had been buried in the crook of his neck. Pools of tears glistened in his eyes. He shook his head, softly, and let his gaze fall down to Crowley’s collarbone.

“I can’t promise you that, dear. I’m sorry, it would make every living moment of my existence absolutely miserable.” Crowley’s own head shook, new tears finding their way out of his eyes. His hands found their way to the back of Aziraphale’s head, curling into short locks of hair, pulling the angel closer to his chest. He hugged him tight, like he was the most precious thing in the universe, and Aziraphale felt safe in his arms like this.

“I can’t be your- your reason to stick around, Aziraphale. You have to find other things to keep you around, something that keeps you here. Best bet is yourself.” Crowley’s hands had found their ways to the sides of Aziraphale’s face, holding him so close their noses nearly touched. His voice had a gentle lilt to it, bringing comfort like a blanket after a chilly day out.

"Humanity is always romanticising living for another person, like a lover, but that's a terrible thing to live for! I don't know how they managed to get that idea, though I did take credit for it. Regardless, it's... it's wrong!" Crowley reluctantly pulled away from Aziraphale, also pulling him up and to the worn couch when he noticed he looked disappointed. This news was the best yet the absolute worst thing he's heard his entire existence. Aziraphale loved him, but it was so much that nothing else in the universe could be worth staying for. That's a new level of responsibility dumped on his shoulders, but he'd happily take it.

"Angel, loving someone shouldn't consist of them being a necessity. You shouldn't need a person, you should be able to stand up without them. Love them but don't need them, just prefer to have them." Had he read that in a book once? He wouldn't remember. Frankly, right now he didn't care if he did. The mess of weeping angel had mellowed down to shaky sighs and occasional hitched breathing. 

“It probably won’t be easy, getting used to that. Satan knows I only knew so many of those humans who wholeheartedly believed in that too, but we gotta work to that, okay? We’re going to get you to walk on your own in that department.” Aziraphale was looking up into Crowley’s yellow eyes. Yellow, or Golden? He’d spent more nights than he’d like to admit contemplating that. One thing was sure, though, they were stunning. More beautiful than the stars he’d made, that those eyes had seen and loved first hand. How could he ever like without that? 

“Have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?” Hang on, he didn’t mean to say that. Why’d he say that? Crowley was now looking down into his own eyes, mildly perplexed at the change of tone. Aziraphale continued, saying, “Imagining living without seeing that again, it’s... it’s complete and utter madness.” A sorrowful quirk of brows danced a waltz with a sad smile, while slender fingers tucked stray strands of curly blond hair behind Aziraphale’s ear. 

“Have you ever heard that myth,” Crowley’s voice broke the silence that had built up in their love laced stares, “that when someone dies, their soul joins that celestial body of stars?” Aziraphale shook his head, his glassy eyes looking down to their two now interlaced hands, Crowley’s rubbing circles over his.

“I like to think that it’s true, that maybe all the ethereal and occult that died are up there, reliving life as a burning ball of gas. It’s a bit more time, when the eternal lose their years. It’s relief in this unknown so rarely crossed it’s a terrifying thought.” A bird had started chirping outside their window, while the sounds of engines revving started to become noticeable. None of these small pleasures were taken note of on this specific morning.

“It’s hope that death isn’t the endgame, and gone from here isn’t gone forever,” It was whispered quietly in the ear of an angel, wrapped in the embrace of a demon. “You can’t really get rid of Her creations, you know? Plants degrade into fertiliser for other plants, whether as old rot or faecal matter. Bones and fossils exist, even if those great big buggering dinosaurs are just a joke. Great humans are remembered for hundreds or even thousands of years after they’re gone. It’s never the end of someone to die.”

“The Saint-Exupéry guy had great ideas. What with the whole stars and wells analogy. If it ever came to it, that we’d be separated, which it never will, I’ll make sure of that. But theoretically, if it did, remember the stars. Who knows, maybe I’ll be one of them, but you’ll never know which. Wouldn’t that make all the stars in the sky beautiful? You’d have billions of stars that you know, oh, you know very well, are all saying I love you. I love you, I love you, I am madly, deeply, completely, and utterly in love with you, angel. Don’t give me that look. Sappy as shit, I know, but only you get that. No one’s ever going to look up at the sky and see the love I spill for you, or hear my voice singing soothing melodies to you on your worst days. That’s all for you alone, darling.” Aziraphale gradually came to smile sadly as Crowley pulled his most heartfelt feelings and words deep out of his heart, and could not help the little tears that came with his eyes scrunching as he laughed a sad chuckle. 

“‘The Little Prince,’ A beautiful work, I must say. I, then, can offer that somewhere out there, whether I’m among the stars or one of billions on earth, have given you this.” After saying those words, Aziraphale coughed slightly and then started to sing a lullaby. One of an angel who fell on a rainy day, and laid his heart bare at his beloved’s feet. It was the world’s longest kept secret. 

“Whether you’re down here on earth, looking at some of your creations, and some lost souls, or you’re looking out from space, and looking for earth those millions of lightyears away, you’ll know that on one of the bright shining dots, an angel croons a sonnet for his beloved.” Crowley was smiling a watery grin, and some playful old cheer came back into his voice.

“Psh, fucking poetry. I absolutely love it. That stuff’s demonic.” He received a light shove on the shoulder from a giggling angel, and himself joined in the merrymaking, before the mirth died down, and they were pressing their foreheads against one another. 

It was in this way that an angel was helped along the road to healthier loving, by a demon. And the world kept turning, though everyone had a particularly better day that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/noT-I5BHd90
> 
> It is an AMAZING song I highly recommend checking out! If the link doesn’t work, look up “An Angel Fell” on youtube. Nine (the youtuber who made this song) has other beautiful songs I highly recommend checking out too!
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who taught me how to italicise words in the previous chapters! Your help was very much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Quick question how do I do things like Italicize words? I’m on an iPad mini and when I wrote it in pages parts were italicized but when I transferred it, it all went whack. I tried spacing it out and i really hope it works out. Any help and criticism is deeply appreciated, thanks!


End file.
